


Reset

by Oh_Toasty



Series: Dark History [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Death, Blind Character, Blood Magic, Canon Disabled Character, Dark Stiles, Grief, Hotwiring, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mechanics, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, Motorcycles, Mourning, Name Change, Older Stiles Stilinski, Original Character(s), PTSD, Past, Sequel, Stiles Has Issues, Stiles has magic, Stiles is An Adult, Tags will be added as I write, Tattoos, Time Travel, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, WIP, Work In Progress, but They’re just a plot device, i don’t know, post time travel, probably, you don’t see them alot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-06-12 18:25:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15345867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oh_Toasty/pseuds/Oh_Toasty
Summary: Stiles sacrifice was accepted, albeit not how he expected it to be. Now he must work to make sure all he has lost has not been in vain.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress meant to get me back into the process of writing. Chapter sizes will likely be inconsistent, but hopefully they will all be at least this long. I have no relationships planned now hence the gen marking, but I admit that I adore Steter and it make make an appearance. I am willing to consider other relationships if they are requested, but please remember that the Stiles in this fic is NOT the same youth seen as in the show.

Stiles stares at the brand new ID declaring him to be Mitch Nowak. It had been hard, taking on a new name, but he couldn’t keep using one that was as odd and well known as that of the Sheriff’s son. Though, he thinks, dad’s not quite sheriff yet. Stiles shakes his head to clear it; he should be grateful his new name was still rooted in his true name, that he still had some connection to his past. 

Shoving his new identification into his pockets, Stiles makes his way over to his stolen backpack and hikes it up on his shoulders. If he heads to the homeless shelter now, he can get a hot shower, a free meal, and someone willing to help with his job search. 

The walk is short, but Stiles finds that he’s tense throughout the whole trip. He feels as though there are eyes on him, but as he looks about Stiles cannot see anything except regular folks milling about. Still, Stiles bites his lip until it splits and bleeds before running a finger over his lip and using the blood to draw a small rune on the bottom of his shirt. The rune should protect him from being watched and followed. 

The shelter promises him ninety days of housing, which he accepts graciously. By then, all of his problems should be resolved and there won’t be much reason to stay in this world. He can finally let himself rest. 

For now though, Stiles showers and shapes his facial hair; he doesn’t remove it all, worried he will resemble his father to much and someone may notice. The volunteers at the shelter tell him of multiple job openings at fast food restaurants and retail such as Walmart. 

He shakes his head, “Do you have anything a little more skilled?”

The volunteer eyes him cautiously, taking in his toned build and tanned skin, “Do you know any mechanics?”

“Yeah,” Stiles snorts thinking back to the many years of repairing his Jeep. “Yeah, I know some.”

“There’s a garage over on Sixth; they sometimes need help. No guarantee they’ll let you actually do any repair, but if they like you then you can make a living.”

“Thanks,” Stiles mutters sucking on his bloodied lip from earlier. 

He makes his way to the garage slowly, thinking as he goes. He has identification now, as well as the skills to get the job. Once he has a way to live he can finally focus his attention on saving everyone. As far as he can recall the Hale fire should be within the next two months, though he doesn’t know the day. That means he needs to keep his eyes open for Kate and Gerard, Deucalion should come to town soon as well, and Derek’s high school girlfriend, Penny or Paige or something would die and awaken the Nemeton. 

The garage is big and open with men barking instructions at one another. There’s a sense of community as well as structure and Stiles knows he could fit in there if he gets the job. Still, something dark lingers at the corner of his mind and Stiles can’t help but let his eyes linger on the one piece that doesn’t seem to fit the scene, a small quiet man on the outskirts of the garage. 

“Can I help you?” A large friendly man asked as he appeared in front of Stiles. 

Stiles nods, “Yeah, I was told to ask about a job here. Are you guys hiring here?” 

“Depends,” the man tells him, “You any good with cars?”

“I’ve got some experience,” Stiles informs him. “I’ll admit, most of the work I’ve done has been on my own Jeep, I haven’t done much for anything else.”

The man hums quietly, “Alright, come on in and I’ll let you get your hands on something. I like what I see and we’ll move on to paper work, if not and you won’t reach that step.”

“Fair enough,” Stiles agreed following the man. “What did you say your name was?”

“I’m Samuel Frane,” his potential boss introduces himself. “What about you?”

“S- Mitch Nowak.” 

“Alright Mitch, get to work.” Samuel throws some parts at him and points Stiles over to a vehicle at the back of the garage. 

Stiles falls into his work, replacing old, broken parts with new pieces. The work relaxes him, but keeps him busy enough that he doesn’t fall into the same despair that held him before Stiles began this mission. It seems so long ago that he decided to sacrifice himself and countless others to the Nemeton, since he last allowed himself to actually think about the circumstances which drove him. 

The work is done to soon, and Stiles turns back to Samuel with a curious look. “Anything else I can do you you?”

“Yeah,” Samuel mutters leading him over to a group of men. “They’re gonna walk you through what they’re doing while I get the paperwork.”

Stiles smiles at the men and listens as they introduce themselves to him. They’re friendly enough though Stiles remind himself that it doesn’t matter, he’ll be gone soon enough. They finish the vehicle quickly and Stiles memorizes the movements they make. It won’t matter if he forgets, his natural magic will guide him through the process. A matter such as this is simple enough that it doesn’t require runes or blood to work. 

Samuel comes back out from his office waving paperwork above his head. “Mitch, get over here!”

He obeys with an enthusiastic smile secured on his face. His life will be much easier when he has a job and cash to line his pockets. Stiles fills out the forms he’s granted with ease, though he has to remind himself of his false birthdate and name. 

“It’ll be good to have you,” Samuel is telling him. “We’ve been a bit low at on workers since all our part timers went back to work after winter break.”

Stiles nods, “Well it’s a pleasure to be here.”

“Let's introduce you to the rest of the boys now,” Samuel laughs as he drags him away from the group he’s already met and toward the outskirts of the garage. 

“You’ll fit in here,” Samuel tells him. “I can see it in your eyes that there’s something about you.” 

Stiles snorts, “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

Finally, Samuel introduces him to the man who had caught his eye earlier. “This is Unger, one of my oldest employees.”

“Nice to meet you,” Stiles tells him eyes narrowing as he takes in the other man’s nervous pallor and the way he wipes his sweaty palms along his pants before shaking his hand. 

“You too,” Unger tells him. 

Stiles makes it back to his bunk with instructions to return ready for work bright and early tomorrow. He lays down, exhausted by navigating life in a world he doesn’t exist. 

As he drifts off to sleep, he wonders about Unger’s familiarity.


	2. Chapter 2

Work is fine. Stiles does what is asked of him and ignores how odd it feels to just work. He feels as if he should be fighting for his life or, if he thinks to the later days at the end of his last life, killing for the lives of his dead friends. His magic sparks in his fingertips as he thinks back to the sacrifices he made. He wills his magic down and removes the broken part he’d been considering. 

His shift ends and he can’t help but think back to his coworkers. There’s something just slightly off with the situation and he feels as though he’s missing something. Still, he pushes it out of his mind and focuses on the matter at hand. 

He has two months to save the Hales, and, if at all possible, Derek’s girlfriend and Deucalion. The first step should determining if Paige is still alive. He doesn’t recall the details of how or when she died, only that her death made Derek vulnerable to Kate’s advancements. 

He heads towards the town center, wondering how to go about determining the livelihood of a girl whose face he’s never seen and whose last name he doesn’t know. His first action, Stiles decides, will be to find Derek. By following the teenager, he’ll eventually be led to his target- if Paige is still alive. 

Derek may be young, however he is still a werewolf. If he plans to follow him, Stiles will need to take precautions. Derek will hear him coming from a mile away, literally. That’s not even addressing how his scent will stand out to Derek if not dealt with, a stranger in a familiar place. 

Stiles drums his fingers along his thighs and suddenly changes courses. While he is technically able to cast the necessary spells without purchasing supplies, it would require more blood than he is willing to part with at the moment. Blood magic is more convenient and, in some ways, more powerful, but the stakes are much higher. Stiles has lost more to blood magic than his other workings and he’d only been using it for a fraction of the time. 

Eventually, Stiles reaches his destination: a small, cottage looking home. Stiles raps sharply on the door twice, then he pauses for three beats and repeats the motion. 

The door is opened by a frail, old woman who glares at Stiles over her half moon glasses. “How May I help you?”

“Hello, Alexy,” Stiles chirps. “Feeling like a hag today are you?”

“Hmm,” The woman hums, suddenly a young, blond bombshell. “You’re not from here and now are you?”

Stiles smiles, “Not yet. Are you selling today?”

Alexy picks at her teeth with a toothpick that she pulls out of thin air. “Depends, what are you looking for?”

“Amaranth, Agrimony Herb, and Lady’s Slippers.” Stiles informs her. “If you would.”

“Hiding from someone?” Alexy asks, her eyebrows raising. 

“You could say that,” Stiles replies with a small smile. “Are you willing to sell?”

“How are you paying?” Alexy questions though she finally opens the door wide enough for Stiles to enter. 

“Well,” Stiles starts. “I won’t go steal all this shit from Deaton meaning he won’t be on your ass about it.”

Alexy snorts, “Well, that’s a start. You gonna owe me a favor too?”

“A small one,” Stiles agrees. “One death maximum and I get veto power.”

“Deal,” the woman agrees, in hag form once more as she gathers the supplies that Stiles requested. “Hope you know what your doing kid.”

Stiles snorts as he takes the package from Alexy. “I have no fucking idea, trust me.”

Leaving the store, Stiles whistles to himself happily. He didn’t even have to dig into his limited supply of cash, yet he made out with exactly what he needed. A drop of blood combined with the herbs would be just as powerful as if he’d solely used a larger amount of blood and yet much safer- for both himself and the souls who would meet their end at his hands. 

There is no privacy available for him back at the homeless shelter, so Stiles wanders into the park and takes a seat on a slightly secluded bench. He mixes his portions of his herbs in his hands and then bites at the tear on his lip to reopen the scab. He spits the blood into his hands and kneads the mixture together. Slowly, with a few muttered words the mixture takes on another form, almost a gel. It’s a translucent green and Stiles wrinkles his nose even as he smear it under his eyes, along the shells of his ears, and down the bridge of his nose. 

Words of power leave his lips, and Stiles feels his eyes glow the same white they always do when he works bigger magics. A smile curves up on his lips, there’s no way that Derek will see him coming now. 

The magic will prevent him from standing out in every way. Should someone try to look at him, their eyes will pass right over him without registering his presence; if a wolf smells there’s surrounding, his scent will simply blend into the background scents all wolfs ignore; any sounds he made would be ignored likewise.

Stiles heaves a deep sigh, it’s time for the hard part now: seeing Derek. He knows that the boy he’s about to see isn't the same as the man he knew. The Derek he had known, the Derek he had lived and fought by, had been shaped by the horrors he had experienced. If he’s on time, this Derek has yet to suffer as the one he’d known.

Stiles makes his way to the highschool, feeling odd as he looks upon the school where he found so much terror, but also joy. He remembers Peter chasing him down the halls, but also meeting Allison and befriending Lydia. That’s not even mentioning how uncomfortable it feels to be a man of nearly 30 sitting outside of a high school. 

It’s several hours before Derek swaggers out of the high school looking every bit the confident teenager his is. Stiles nearly doesn’t recognize the boy as his target without the brooding expression and furrowed brows. Still when he realizes his target is taking off and leaving him in the dust, Stiles rises to his feet and begins to follow. 

It’s boring work.

Derek is not the most exciting person to stalk. With the exception of his werewolf abilities, Derek is like all other teenagers. He meets up with his friends, plays a game of basketball and then heads home. 

Or so Stiles has thought, Derek suddenly veers off course about a mile away from the drive to the Hale House. He starts to cut through the preserve and Stiles follows him curiously. 

 

They end up at at the abandoned distillery and Stiles clenches his fists allowing his nails to bit into his palms. He hates this place; so much hatred and fear stems from it. 

Shaking his head, Stiles sits and waits. He grows tired quickly, but he waits it out. He’s had to endure a stakeout on worse situations than boredom; and he should be grateful for his current situation. 

He tries not to think of the situation in which he last sat on a stakeout, the act out hiding beneath his targets car waiting to cut their throat and imbue in the power of their blood. He tongues the cut on his lip, clearing his mind. There’s no need to dwell on the past; it hasn’t happened, not yet. All of his victims will never die by his hands. 

Derek exits the distillery roughly an hour later, holding hands with a pretty young girl. He breathes a sigh of relief; she’s still alive then. 

Paige.


	3. Chapter 3

He follows Paige home, the whole time wondering the best way to broach the subject. If he just approaches her and brings up werewolves, he’ll come off as crazy. Plus, there’s the age difference to consider. Who knows how she’ll feel if approached by a strange man almost twice her age. He watches as her hands curl around a can of pepper spray and he chuckles. 

Decision made, Stiles follows her all the way home and notes the address. He won’t confront her directly, it wouldn’t work out in his favor, but he is willing to leave her with a way to contact him. He heads back to the shelter for the night, swearing to return. 

When she’s in school the next day, but before his shift, he sneaks into her bedroom and leaves a note on her bed. It’s light in details, simply telling her the supernatural exists, and the Hales are a part of it. He explains that he doesn’t expect her belief, but if she watches closely she’ll realize the truth. He leaves a way to contact him as well, though she’d need at least a shred of magic to make it work. 

Stiles creates a small incision on his forearm, and dips his fingers into the blood that beads there. It’s hard to return from blood magic, he muses as he draws on his face the runes which would make him indetectable. Even now that he no longer needs it, after all he’d learned it solely for his sacrifice to the Nemeton, he relies on it greatly. He’ll need to practice once more how to to use the magic he had first learned. 

He arrives at the highschool around lunch time, and he feels vaguely like a stalker as he waits for either Derek or Paige to appear. His own highschool days are long behind him, and he’s not sure he enjoys watching and waiting for the youth. 

When he finally sees Derek, Stiles Berliners for his table. The boy won’t be able to see him, but at the very least Stiles will get close enough to hear him talk. Hopefully he will mention either Paige’s behavior after the letter, or something about Kate Argent. Stiles cannot recall, for the life of him, when she came to town. 

He’s just taken his seat, directly in front of Derek, when another boy appears. This one is obviously a few years older, not in highschool, perhaps college or even a secondary school. The blue of his eyes is frighteningly familiar, yet Stiles can't quite place it. Slowly, he begins to run through a list of potential names.

“Uncle Peter,” Derek sighs, startling Stiles out of his quiet wonderment. 

Peter, Peter Hale. Stiles studies him for a moment, alive and well. He looks young. Stiles has never seen him like this, not quite free with laughter and smiles, but they exist where it once would have been impossible. Not to mention he’s, well, sane, a first since Stiles first met the older, or formerly older, man. 

“”Derek,” Peter purrs. “Still mooning after that girl? Does she refuse to sit with you?”

Derek clenches his fist angrily. “She likes to study at lunch so she sits alone. Leave it.”

Paige burst through the door frame in a flurry of activity, for once in her life demanding attention. She steaks over to Derek, and grabs his arm. 

“You, with me, right now!”

“Trouble in paradise?” Peter laughs, and Derek just glares I’m his dorectoom before stalking off with his girlfriend. 

With one last rueful glance towards Peter, Stiles follows. 

Paige shoves the letter he’d left into Derek’s chest, and the boy scrambles to grab it before it can flutter to the ground. Stiles holds back his laughter, he can’t help but like the girl’s spunk. 

“What’s going on?” Derek asks and Paige snarls. 

“Look at that! Someone left that for me, in my room!”

Derek looks up from the paper that he’d only just glanced at, “Someone was in your house? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Paige exclaims. “Just read the note.”

They stand in silence for an instant as Derek reads, and Stiles uses the moment to glance around. No one seems to be paying them any mind, with the exception of Peter who listens intently though he tries to disguise it as he breaks a book out of his bag. 

“That’s crazy, Paige,” Derek chuckles nervously. “Whoever left this needs to be put in an asylum.”

“Oh stop trying,” Paige snaps. “I already knew you weren’t human. Beacon Hills has always been full of the inexplicable. I’m more concerned about how this person knew, after all, someone would have to be fairly close to you or your family to know, right?”

“And why would they break into your house to tell you?” Derek muses, biting his lip. “Unless it was a hunter?”

“Hunter?”

“I’ll explain later,” Derek assures her. “For now, we need to call in some help. Uncle Peter, can you come over here?”

Stiles can’t hear Peter reply, but the man stands up and begins to casually meander over towards them, so he assumes there was one. Eventually, Peter reaches his nephew. 

“I doubt it was a hunter,” Peter says, getting right to the point. “They tends to be nearly as secretive as we are, unwilling to tell others of the supernatural. No, it seems as though there’s a third party at play here.”

“So what should we do?” Derek asks. 

Stiles can’t help but wonder but how young, how beta, his once alpha sounds. 

“We could contact whoever wrote the note,” Paige suggests. 

Peter sneers down at her, “And how do you recommend we do that?”

Paige raises a brow, pointing to the bottom of the paper where he had written out a simple mirror message spell. “They wrote a spell here for just that.”

Peter smiles widely, “Did they now, and you can see it? Fascinating, you must have magic in your blood.”

“Magic?” Paige squeaks.

“Oh yes, it must be cloaked to those who lack magic, as I cannot see the spell you are telling us about. I wonder how the mage knew you had it?”

Stiles bites his lip, tasting the blood of his permanently split one, and fights a chuckle. He hadn’t known at all, but he hadn’t wanted the authorities to contact him if she’d gone to the police, and this had seemed the most plausible way to get it to her without that risk. He hadn’t expected her to confront Derek admittedly, but to be fair, he also thought she hadn’t known what he was. 

Now though, now he wonders how she died if she was aware of the horrors of the world. Maybe she wasn’t though, Stiles reminds himself. Not all supernatural is evil, and if she only knew Derek it’s more than possible that she had simply been to trusting. 

He won’t let her make that mistake again. 

He listens to them plan to contact him that night, and he whistles a cheery tune, making his way into town. He’ll have to buy a mirror, probably just a little compact, and then he can go to work. 

It’s a good day he decides, he’s already closer to saving a life that had once been lost.


	4. Chapter 4

He goes to the park after his shift, confident that it will be empty at this time of night, and he won’t have to worry about other thinking he’s crazy. He doesn’t particularly care if others believe that, he very well may be, but it certainly would make his job harder of that were his reputation around town. 

There’s a message waiting for him on the compact, but he knows better than to respond just yet. Instead he makes his way over to the duck pond and finds the most pathetic animal. He lures it out of the pond with crumbs from his dinner, before capturing it. 

“I thank you for your sacrifice,” He says, as he slits it’s throat and uses it’s blood to draw runes across his face and make it impossible to recall his face. 

He wonders when he grew so dark, when the murder of animals stopped bothering him. Probably, he muses, before he embarked on a cross country killing spree in order to time travel. In the grand scheme of horrors he has committed, This particular one ranks fairly low, and as such he puts it out of his mind. 

He has bigger things to worry about before he can atone for his sins. 

The message is simple, Paige stares into the mirror, her eyes wide and dark. 

“Who are you, why did you warn me?”

Quietly, he murmurs a few words of power, and waits for his mirror to connect to the one he has in mind. It would be easier to use the remaining duck blood, but he’s learned that people tend to frown upon blood magic, and as such he’s trying to get out of the habit. 

The spell connects, meaning that Paige, and likely the Hales, are there to answer. 

He smirks. 

“Paige,” he greets. 

“Who are you?” She repeats, but she sounds more sure this time. “What do you want with me, with Derek?”

“I’m trying to keep you alive, consider it a favor to an old friend.”

“Why break into my house then?”

“Would you have appreciated someone approaching you on the street and telling you the supernatural is real? Telling you your boyfriend is a werewolf?”

Her silence is answer enough. 

“That isn’t what matter though, I have a warning for you. If they offer it to you, don’t accept the bite. It won’t take, and you will die.”

“Why not just say that in your letter?” Peter asks, stepping out from the shadows. 

Stiles ignores the way his heart stops in his chest. He doesn’t focus on the fact that Peter has been dead for years and years, just on the question he presents. 

“I wanted to ensure she took me seriously, what better way to prove the supernatural than to make her use magic? I have to admit, I didn’t anticipate you of all people helping her.”

“Oh, I’m not.” Peter’s admission comes so easily it reminds Stiles of the man he used to know. “But it is my job to protect my pack, and Derek, despite his odd attachment to this girl, is just that. So how can I be sure that you don’t intend to harm us?”

Stiles smile is crazed, he’s sure. 

“Trust me Peter, I would die before I let anything happen to your pack. I know the pain of being the last one standing, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

He knows he’s given away to much, he hadn’t meant to reveal that he’d once had a pack, but between Derek and Peter he’s broken down. Staring at the two once alphas who had started everything, he doesn’t know what he feels. All he knows is that he must stop the oncoming massacre. 

“I’m please to have the attention of a Hale though, that will make this much easier.”

“Make what easier?” Peter asks, his voice dripping with suspicion. 

“I have a message for your Alpha. Tell Talia that the Argents are coming, and that they won’t follow the code. If he can be convinced to that fact, then Chris Argent will help you, but first the truth of his family must be revealed.”

“And how would you know that?” Derek asks, his sudden interruption shocking Stiles. 

He ignores it. 

“Don’t try to contact me again, you won’t have any luck.”

Then he drops the mirror to the ground, and smashes it beneath his heel. 

The days pass by in a haze after that, as Stiles knows the Argents are due to arrive any day. He doubts his warning had properly prepared the Hales, nothing could, but once the arrives the reconnaissance could begin. 

As he waits, he researches. He needs a focus if he’s to return to typical magic, one other than blood, and he needs it quickly. He doesn’t have the time to retrain himself to the mage he once was, to be totally independent, especially since the last time he was it still wasn’t enough of a sacrifice for the Nemeton. 

His next day off is a Tuesday, and Stiles weighs his options, before ultimately deciding that it’s better to get his focus now and deal with a small disaster in his absence than not get it and watch the Hales burn once more. 

He takes a bus up to Sacramento, and seeks out the one tattoo artist that he knew was already in business this far back. 

Izekial, is old, his hands weathered and his eyes hard, but the bright shapes covering his body are a testament to his skills. Stiles can taste the magic in the air of the shop, accumulated from years of focusing the magic of the strong and powerful. 

“A focus, then?” Izekial asks, and Stiles nods passing over the money. 

The older man preps his station, and Stiles sits down in the chair to wait, removing his shirt as he does so. As the needle of the tattoo gun comes to rest above his heart, he wonders what form the focus will take. 

He doesn’t bother asking Izekial, knows that the magic of the one in need guides the needle, that Izekial is simply a vessel, the ink not the artist. The shape of his focus will come from his very soul, not a man he has met only once before in another life. 

Izekial finishes, and Stiles can feel his magic spread throughout the ink on his chest, healing it. He manages to keep his fingers away from it, remembering Izekial warning that touching it could lead to infection if done before the focus finished healing, and he stands, eager to make his way towards the mirror and see what fate his magic had wrought for him. 

He takes a step forwards, and is instantly deafened as his wards begin to blare around him. He whispers the words of silence, and mentally follows the alert back to where it has stemmed from. He’s vaguely aware of his eyes glowing white, and Izekial wordlessly offering him his shirt. As he pulls it on, he becomes submerged in the events of his territory. 

Gerard had arrived


	5. Chapter 5

He shoves his shirt back on, and sprints back out to the bus stop. He’s never wished for his old beat up Jeep quite so intensely as he does in this moment. 

Checking the time, he sees that the bus isn’t due for another five minutes and he quickly casts his eyes around for a solution. He needs to get back before anything bad can happen. 

There. On the other side of the road. A motorcycle, in decent enough shape, catches the sun and throws it off in a variety of shapes. 

Stiles is there in a moment, removing plastic connectors and rearranging the wires until the engine sparks to life. He throws a leg over the side, and takes off paying he’ll reach his destination in time. 

As he drives, he reminds himself:

It’s too early to be the Hales. It’s too early to be the Hales. It’s too early to be the Hales. It’s too early to be the Hales. It’s too early to be the Hales. It’s too early to be the Hales. It’s too early to be the Hales. It’s too early to be the Hales. It’s too early to be the Hales. 

He hits Beacon Hills county after dark, and he has the creeping sensation that he’s to late. Still, he follows the pull of his wards, eager to catch up Gerard. 

Sadly, the wards only flare when someone has active ill intentions. Now Stiles is forced to follow the trail to where they had gone off, knowing that he’ll get nothing for his efforts. Gerard is likely long gone, and it’s improbable that he left any evidence behind. 

It’s not just evidence he finds, it’s Deucalion. 

Stiles stares down at the other man, biting lip. He has to options, he could kill the man now, preventing the possibility of an alpha pack now, or he could help him and cultivate his alliance, all the while convincing him that an alpha pack is unnecessary. 

“Please,” Deucalion cries. “Please.”

Stiles stares down into those useless eyes, and nods his assent. 

For lack of a better option, he brings Deucalion to Deaton. It’s risky, and likely to gain the Hale’s attention, but he has a feeling that Deucalion would be an ally worthy of the risk. 

Still, he uses his magic to cover his face with another. To the eyes of all who could see, he’d appear to be a mage he had once met in Europe. He alters his scent as well, though he does leave Deucalion out of that spell, as the man would have already caught his scent and memorized it. 

“My Beta,” Deucalion whines. “Marco, where is he? He survived, I can feel it.”

“He’ll show up,” Stiles promises, but he finds that he can’t find any memory of Deucalion mentioning Marco. 

Perhaps the wolf simply disappeared, or perhaps he has already begun to change things. 

“Deuc,” a worried voice calls, and Stiles turns to face the newcomers to Deaton’s clinic. 

He finds the sight of Talia Hale leaves his mouth dry. Despite the fact that he had known they would meet eventually, he doesn’t know how to react to her presence. She has so much potential, as an alpha, a mother, and it was all taken away from her. This whole time he’s been trying to save the Hale’s in order to save his own family; he never once thought of how he could improve the lives of others by saving those he’d never met.

Peter is there too, Stiles notes. The man is staring at him, even as Talks ignores him, and Stiles knows that Peter can smell the magic in the air. It’s not an innate sense in wolves, but rather one that they can court through exposure and practice. 

He wonders when Peter, a mere college student, had the time. Then he silently snorts, by the time he has been Peter’s age he’d already been looking into blood magic, eager to prevent the death of his pack. It shouldn’t be a surprise that Peter had been just as eager to feel prepared to deal with a threat. 

“The damage,” Deaton sighs, “I’m afraid that it’s permanent.”

Deucalion roars, demanding that they get out, that they give him the room and allow him to think. 

“No.” Stiles says, his voice warm and compassionate. 

When he replies, Deucalion just sounds broken. “Please, just leave me alone.”

“No, that’s not what you need right now. You need to remember that you aren’t alone, that you have a pack who loves and cares for you. You need to remember that they, and I, will help help you seek revenge against Gerard Argent.”

Peter stills. “You’re the magic user who tried to warn us.”

“Yes.”

“What spell do you going right now?” Peter asks, “How can we trust you?”

Stiles looks at Deucalion, who looks as though he’s only a step away from giving up, then to Talia whose face is closed off from all emotion, waiting to see how this plays out, and he sighs. 

“I hadn’t decided if I would reveal myself yet,” Stiles admits, bringing his hand to his focus and dropping his spell, “It’s dangerous to have magic these days. Of course, had I realized you could smell magic, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“What,” Talia bites out. “You can smell magic?”

Peter shrugs, “Perhaps this isn’t the time do discuss this, sister?”

Talia nods once, and the attention in the room returns to Stiles. 

“Anyway, Gerard is a big enough threat that it seemed worth sharing my true self with you. Afterall, it’s not like you could really do anything to me.”

Peter growls. “I do believe there are a great many things we could do, including, but not limited to, removing your head from your corpse.”

“Oh you could try, you may even succeed. It really wouldn’t matter to me; I’ve had much worse.”

He knows his face is dark as he recalls the deaths of his pack mates. The tears as he’d held the cooling corpses of his family. After all that he has seen, the threat of his own death is nothing. He does not live for himself, but for his future pack. 

The threat of Gerard has been acknowledged, Derek’s romance with Paige saved and his romance with Kate prevented. If the Hale’s were to kill him now, things would still be different; his pack has a chance. 

“Enough,” Deucalion snaps. “Back to Gerard, if you knew he was a threat, if you cared enough to fight against him, how did he ever get close enough to this territory to attack my pack?”

Stiles frowns, “I was out of town when my wards were triggered. I traveled back as quickly as I could, but by the time I arrived the damage had been done. You’d already been blinded.”

“Why get involved at all?” Talia questions. “You’ve protected your identity well enough, Gerard would never have known that you were a magic user lest you revealed yourself to him. Why do you care about us?”

Stiles allows himself to finally acknowledge the grief that haunts him, even as he spins his story of half truths, his feelings are real.

“I used to have a pack. I know the horrors that hunters, especially Gerard and Kate, can inflict. Would you like to know what they’re M.O. is?”

Peter is the only one to move, inclining his head regally. 

“Yes.”

“They send Kate, usually disguised as a teacher, to a high school, and she builds a relationship with a youth whom she deems the weakest link. She takes advantage of that kid, as long as she has to, until she has enough information to trap a family in their home and burn them all alive.”

“Can you prove this?” Talia asks sharply.

“Not yet,” Stiles laughs. “They’re to good at what they do.”

The room is quiet for a few moments. 

“That’s why you interferes with Paige?” Peter murmurs. “You were trying to ensure that Derek isn’t her next target.”

“Yes,” Stiles answers. “But I need her to arrive in town anyway; I can’t kill one until I have the other close.”

“Why not,” Deucalion snarls. “The death of Gerard would surely attract Kate.”

“Yes,” Stiles agrees. “And an army of other hunters she has hand picked. No, I need to find proof that they don’t follow code, and then I, We, can kill them freely.”

“Why bother with the proof?” Talia questions. “What good will it do you if you aren’t bringing them to justice the human way?”

Peter’s eyes are narrow as he eyes Stiles. “You have someone on the inside, someone who can use the proof to harness the other hunters.”

“Not yet, but I will.”

Talia and Deucalion both break out into argument, offering their own ideas and plans, but Stiles ignores them. He can feel Peter watching him, even once he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, but he doesn’t say anything. 

Eventually the alphas will wear themselves out, and they’ll see that his plan is for the best. Anything else would bring the whole of the hunting community down upon them. 

It’ll be hard, Stiles thinks, to gather concrete enough proof for Chris to believe their accusations, especially now that he has Allison and hasn’t seen his father in recent years. Time will have allowed for him to start fooling himself, for him to believe better of his father than he would when confronted with him. He’ll still think of Kate as his baby sister, not as an accomplished huntress and seductress. 

He wishes he could remember the names of the packs he knows Kate had killed in the same way, wishes that his mad return to the past had been better planned.

“How do we know that you aren’t just a ploy the Argents are using to get to us?” Talia asks. “Afterall, a hunter would know how to lie to a werewolf, they may even sanction the use of magic if they thought the end result would be worth it.”

Stiles leers at her, “A woman after my own heart. You’re caution is good, it means you’re taking their threat seriously. As for proving myself, what would you recommend? Afterall, anything I suggest will be instantly deemed untrustworthy.”

“Your Focus,” Peter answers quickly. There’s no way to fake one, and everyone knows that they show what really lies inside.”

“Having me strip so soon,” Stiles gasps as he bats his lashes. He will not show his discomfort at the idea. “You could ask a man his name first.”

“And What is your name?” Deucalion asks waspishly. “What rouge sorcerer has deigned to help us?”

“Mitch Nowak, at your service.”

“Nice to meet you Mitch,” Talia smiles blandly. “Now take off your shirt.”

“Very well, I suppose we’ll learn what mark I bear together. You see, I didn’t quite get a chance to look at it earlier, in my mad rush to return before Gerard’s escape.”

“Let’s hope we’re both pleased with the result then,” Peter mutters. 

He does not allow his fingers to stumble as he unbuttons his shirt. Nor does he allow his shirt to expose his mark before he removes it completely. The wolves are silent, studying him, and Stile finally looks down to see what he has had permanently inked into his flesh. 

Black ink peers back up at him in the form of a crow. The feathers of the tail, he realizes, carry names among them, to many to count. They are the names of the fallen, the names of his pack, and of those he has killed in their defense. They are the name of his failures and his regrets. 

In the talons of the crow, with sharp talons piercing into it, is a silver coin.


End file.
